


These hands tell stories

by kadykat5



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Deaf Character, Drabble, F/F, MMA fighter, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadykat5/pseuds/kadykat5
Summary: This will be a series of drabbles all within the same universe. Just a few scenes from a fic I've been working on.Lexa is sixteen when her mother is killed in a car accident that also leaves Lexa mostly deaf. When her body finally heals she just wants everything to go back to normal, but the one thing she thinks she has left is taken from her. Her Judo sensei tells her that he cannot teach her if she cannot hear him, and she cannot train with her hearing aids in. After that all, Lexa wants to do is get out of her town, so after she graduates high school she goes as far from home as she can for school. After struggling in school for weeks she comes across an MMA gym in town. Anya sees potential in her, thinks she could be a champion if she worked at it. Lexa wants to show the world, Anya, herself, that her disability does not make her disabled. She will become a champion.





	1. First day in the gym

“I want to train to fight,” were her first words to Anya.

The older woman looked up from her computer to study this angry teenager standing in her office. Lexa watched as the trainer honed in on her hearing aids, but   
the girl refused to fidget under her gaze.

“Have you got any experience?” Anya questioned in a bored tone.

Lexa nodded once, her face hard. “Seven years of Judo.”

Reaching under her desk, Anya grabbed an extra pair of gloves and tossed them to the teenager, “Let’s see what you can do,” she said standing from her desk and walking out of the office leaving Lexa to trail behind her.

There was a class going on, but Anya didn’t spare them a single glance. She walked straight to the octagon with Lexa silently following behind her putting the gloves on. When Anya opened the gate to the cage, she turned to allow Lexa to enter first, but the teenager paused. “If there’s anything you want me to know before we start,” Lexa said looking into Anya’s eyes, “you have to tell me now. I can’t wear these in there,” Lexa referred to her hearing aids for the first time.

Lexa could not decipher the look that Anya gave her. “Just don’t forget to tap out before I break anything,” the trainer taunted gesturing for Lexa to enter the cage.

Lexa set her hearing aids on the mats outside of the octagon and entered the cage. When Anya finally turned to face her, Lexa paused to bow to her opponent, a show of respect instilled in her after many years of Judo. When the fight started, Lexa sat back and let her opponent come to her. She had no experience striking, but she could redirect Anya’s momentum.

Anya threw a few jabs at Lexa’s face, but the girl kept her guard up firmly to deflect. She continued throwing out light punches trying to get Lexa to retaliate, but the teenager stood firm. Anya then feigned a jab and came with a strong kick to Lexa’s left leg. This brought a reaction from the girl as Lexa’s leg buckled inwards, and she hobbled back out of reach. Lexa watched Anya carefully as she continued her assault. She studied her punches, her form, her speed. Anya had a long reach. Lexa would have to close the gap if she wanted to stand a chance at all. Lexa threw a series of punches not designed to do damage but to get in Anya’s face. When Anya answered with a jab to Lexa’s face, it wracked Lexa’s brain for a moment, but she was still ready for the right hook she saw coming next. Lexa caught the swing and threw her hips into Anya’s. Anya went tumbling over Lexa and smacked down hard onto the mat with Lexa quickly straddling her hips . Lexa immediately went into ground and pound. After a few hits, Lexa hesitated for a moment wondering if Anya wanted to stop the fight now. The mistake cost her dearly.

Anya took hold of her right wrist and pulled it across her body as she bridged her hips up and to the left. Lexa hit the mat with a hard thud, and Anya immediately had the mount on top of her. An elbow to Lexa’s face had Anya coming away with blood on her arm as Lexa’s eyebrow split open. Not wanting to actually hurt the novice, Anya transitioned to side control. Lexa wrapped her left arm around Anya’s head hoping the close quarters will stop her opponent from doing much damage while she thinks of a way out. But Anya sees her chance to finish. She takes Lexa’s left arm and twists it inward as she rotates over top of Lexa, planting herself on her back on the other side of the girl. Lexa’s arm was now firmly extended across Anya’s torso while also trapped between the older woman’s legs. Anya had her in an arm bar. Lexa knew she had no chance, and she wasn’t going to risk injury when she had no way out. As Anya lifted her hips to cause pain and pressure on Lexa’s arm, Lexa quickly tapped Anya’s leg before the pain got too bad. The match was over.

Anya held her hand’ out to help the teenager up and clapped Alex on the shoulder as she stood. Looking into the young woman’s eyes, Anya gave her a single nod, and Lexa felt herself smile for the first time in a while.


	2. "You'd do that... for me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's super short, sorry about that. The next one will be longer

“This isn’t working, kid,” Anya spoke exasperated as she walked into her office with Lexa in tow. Her voice was slightly muffled by the towel soaking up her bloody nose. Lexa had to strain to hear her even with her hearing aids in. Lexa had a similar towel pressed into her bottom lip and her hard gaze was glued to the floor. Anya was giving up on her already. She knew Anya saw how much potential she had, but Lexa could see now that the older woman just couldn’t get past her deafness.  
“We have to be able to communicate, Lexa. It’s not safe for you to wear your hearing aids doing anything other than bag work, and I don’t know how to communicate with you if you can’t hear me,” Anya drops into her chair with a defeated sigh. Lexa still hasn’t looked up from the ground, but she could feel her eyes begin to sting with angry tears. She had been trying really hard to make things easy for Anya. Before she could even open her mouth to form any sort of argument, Anya asked her a question. “How long have you been deaf?”

The question had Lexa’s gaze shooting up to meet Anya’s. In the weeks that Lexa had been coming to Anya’s gym, the trainer hadn’t brought up Lexa’s deafness once, and Lexa was kind of glad for it at the time. It made her feel normal again, but the truth was that she wasn’t normal anymore. She never would be again. “It’s been a little over a year,” she admitted softly.

“Have you thought of trying to learn sign language?” Anya offered in a gentle tone that was a stark change from her usual demeanor.

Lexa sighed and looked back at the ground as she shook her head. “My grandparents just wanted me to be normal again. So they just stuck me in speech therapy until I could act and sound like a normal hearing person. They tried to get me to get cochlear implants too, but I knew I’d never be able to fight again if I did.”

Anya listened intently as Lexa spoke. She’d never had a student this passionate about their sport before. “Listen, I have a buddy who teaches ASL at your university. He’s willing to teach us both for the price of one. If you’re up for it, he’s expecting us in the class on Monday.”

Lexa stared open mouthed at Anya for several seconds. She had to be confused, heard her wrong, misread her lips. “You’re going to learn sign language…” she voiced softly, “for me?”

“Lexa,” Anya stood from her chair and moved in front of Lexa, “you come in here every day and give me everything you have. You have more passion and more drive than anyone else who walks through that door, and others can tell too. People watch you train, and they want to train harder. I want to do this because I believe in you, Lexa.”


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke was livid. She couldn’t believe how giddy Finn was acting right now; he had just ruined those kids lives! “What the fuck were you thinking, Finn? How could you call the cops on those guys? How did you even know that they had cocaine? You know Lincoln never allows anything stronger than weed at his parties.”

Finn laughed and it made him sound almost manic. “That’s the thing, princess, I knew it was in their bags because I put it there.”

“You what?!” Clarke exclaimed “Finn, some of those guys will lose their scholarships, and all of them will get kicked off their team!” How in the world could Finn justify doing something this cruel? This sounded more like something Murphy would do than the boy Clarke met in the first weeks of medical school.

“I know, that’s what’s so great,” Finn chuckled again. “Murphy came up with the idea. Plant the drugs, call the cops, get the dicks kicked off the team, finally lead our hockey team past the first game of the playoffs for the first time in ten years.” Finn’s eyes looked crazy, pupils dilated at different sizes, bloodshot… of course.

“Are you fucking high right now?” Clarke demanded angrily. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You ruin those kids’ lives just to win a hockey game, and you and Murphy are the ones fuckng high of your asses??”

“I just had a little bit, princess. Come on, it’s not that big a deal,” Finn looked over at her and placed his hand on her leg.

“Don’t you touch me!” Clarke snapped as she shoved his hand off her. She was livid. She thought that if she got any angrier she would literally start seeing red. This didn’t make sense to her; Clarke knew how much this hockey season meant to Finn but to do something like this was beyond fathoming for her. She turned to look forward just in time to see the light in front of them turn red, but Finn was still looking at her, huffing, blubbering, trying to justify himself. Then there was a car in the intersection and they were going too fast. “Finn!”

 

When Clarke opened her eyes, she immediately felt a pounding in her head. It took her a second to orient herself, but once she did her head shot back against the headrest, and she tried to look around her. Everything she saw had her heart racing. Finn was lying crumpled on the hood of the car. There was glass everywhere.

“Oh, my god,” she whispered as she frantically searched for her phone. Upon finding it she quickly dialed 911 and moved to get out of the car.

“911, what is the location of your emergency?” the operator recited her prompt.

“I’m at the corner of West End and Elm, and I’ve been in an accident,” Clarke rattled off as she searched the trunk for the first aid kit. She was suddenly very thankful she convinced Finn to let her put one together for him to keep. Hopefully it would be enough to help. “My number, in case we get disconnected, is area code 702-932-7262.”

“Okay, dear, I’ve got you at the intersection of West End and Elm, and your phone number is 702-932-7262. Is that correct, Miss?” The operator repeated Clarke’s information back to her.

“Yes, that’s correct. I need ambulances dispatched immediately; there are at least three injured.”

“Okay, ma’am, let me relay your information to my teams. Stay on the line.” Clarke kept her phone pressed to her ear and she tried to lift the first aid kit with her right hand. Even the small weight of the bag had pain shooting up her arm. Her cry of pain was heard by the operator as she returned to the line. “Ma’am, are you alright?” Clarke noted the worried tone in the operator’s voice.

“I’m fine,” Clarke urged. “I think my arm is fractured.” _I have to get my headphones. I can’t help Finn and be on the phone with only one good hand,_ Clarke reasoned with herself as she went back into the car.

“Okay, ma’am, what can you tell me about the other injured parties?” the operator asked, her tone much more collected.

“Okay,” Clarke took a deep breath and put herself in medic mode. “There is one male in his twenties who is unresponsive after being ejected through the windshield. There are lacerations to his face and arms, and there seems to be a glass shard protruding from his thoracic cavity,” Clarke felt her breath come in shuddering gasps; Finn did not look good. “He’s on the hood of the car, and his left arm may be stuck between the vehicles. I – I don’t think I can move him by myself.”

“That’s okay, miss. The paramedics are on the way. They will help him,” the operator tried to placate Clarke. “Can you tell me if any one else is injured?”

“The driver of the other car,” Clarke suddenly remembered. “Hold on, let me get over there. It looks like most of the damage is towards the back. Thank God,” Clarke spoke mostly for her own sake. She got to the drivers’ side door and peeked inside before opening it. “Looks to be a female in her early –” Clarke got a good look at the driver’s face – “oh, my God. Lexa!” Lexa looked pretty disoriented, but after giving her a once over, Clarke concluded I could have been much, much worse. “Lexa,” she repeated the girl’s name, “Lexa, can you hear me?” _Dumb question, Clarke. Of course she can’t hear you._

Lexa turned her head slightly towards Clarke to see her better. She signed something with her right hand that Clarke couldn’t quite make out, but she took that to mean that Lexa didn’t have her hearing aids in. She was so concentrated on remembering her limited knowledge of signs that it shocked her when Lexa spoke. “Clarke,” her voice was soft, and the ‘K’ in Clarke’s name was hard on Lexa’s tongue, “you’re bleeding.”

The pain Clarke had been pushing to the back of her mind came back briefly, making her acknowledge the small gash just above her right temple. “Doesn’t matter,” she signed sloppily, her right arm protesting greatly at the movement. “You’re hurt.”

Lexa let out a huff of air that must have been a stunted laugh because the corner lips quirked up just a bit. Clarke’s focus was brought from Lexa’s lips as the 911 operator’s persistent voice finally registered. “Ma’am,” she called, “ma’am, is she   
conscious?”

Clarke felt herself smile and sighed in relief. “Yeah, yeah she’s awake, but she doesn’t have her hearing aids in. They must’ve fallen out in the crash,” she noticed Lexa’s look of confusion and tried to sign that she had called 911. Lexa’s face relaxed so she must have understood. “Okay, um, she is cradling her left arm to her chest and her shoulder looks distorted. It’s possible the seatbelt caused a break or dislocation. Breathing is labored; chest rise is shallow,” Clarke observed. “Lexa, does it hurt to breathe?” She tried to speak and sign at the same time, and Lexa’s eyes followed her every movement. Lexa raised her right hand to sign yes.

“She says it hurts to breathe; air bag may have caused rib fractures,” Clarke was finding it harder to remain clinical as she assessed Lexa’s injuries. Lexa’s eyes never left her once as she brushed a few errant curls behind Lexa’s ear. Her hand came away with blood. “She -she’s bleeding from the left side of her head. Given how fast we were going before the crash, as spinal injury is possible.”

“Okay, miss, this is all very good information. I’m going to relay everything you told me to my teams en route. Now, it’s very important that she keeps her head and neck still. Can you tell her that?” The operator instructed.

“I can try,” Clarke replied, trying to keep tears out of her eyes. She did her best to sign the instructions to Lexa, and when Clarke asked if she understood, Lexa signed another yes. There was another small smile on her lips when Clarke looked back at her. “I’m going to check you for more injuries, I need you to voice if anything hurts,” Clarke spoke and attempted to sign. She knew she couldn’t have been signing everything right, but she hoped Lexa understood from reading her lips.

Clarke was so focused on her task that Lexa’s loud calling of her name caused her to jerk away from Lexa completely. “What is it? Did I hurt you?” she voiced instead of signed.

Lexa wasn’t looking at Clarke but rather past her, “Fire.”

“What?” Clarke spoke before the word registered in her head. Turning around to see what Lexa was fixated on, Clarke felt her breath catch. “Oh, my God…”  
The car’s engine on fire, Finn still lying helpless across the hood. The flames were just coming peaking out from the seams of the hood, contained for now. But soon the hood wouldn’t be able to contain it for long, and then there would be no way to help Finn. 

“Ma’am, what’s the matter?” The 911 operator asked repeatedly in her ear.

“Fire, the car’s on fire!” Clarke exclaimed to the woman. Her first instinct was to rush to Finn and pull him to safety, but she paused. Finn was still unresponsive; the hot metal of the burning car had done nothing to wake him, and she could no longer see him breathing. But Lexa was very much awake; she was very much in pain, and she was very much trapped inside of her own car.

“Ma’am you need to get a safe distance away!” the operator’s tone was urgent, and Clarke knew she was right, but she didn’t move away.

“I won’t leave her here,” Clarke turned back to Lexa who watched her with worried eyes.

Clarke reached across Lexa’s lap and tried to unbuckle the seatbelt but it wouldn’t budge. As Clarke continued to struggle with the belt, she heard Lexa’s soft voice again. “Leave me,” the words were spoken so achingly soft, and Lexa’s eyes implored Clarke to listen to her. The look Clarke gave her was almost angry, as if insulted Lexa would even suggest that.

“No way,” Clarke reached into the first aid kit at her feet and pulled out a seatbelt cutter. Reaching across Lexa again, Clarke tugged the cutter through the straps of Lexa’s seatbelt while still trying not to jostle the woman too much. Once the straps were away, Clarke faced a new problem. She had to get Lexa to safety, but she also had to keep Lexa’s spine as stable as possible. “Don’t move,” she instructed.

Clarke’s search through her first aid kit was frantic. She could now feel the heat of the fire at her back, but she had to find something to stabilize Lexa’s head. Of course Clarke didn’t have a neck brace; that’d be too easy, but she did have a towel. In theory, if she could wrap the towel around Lexa’s neck it would be similar to having a soft brace. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it could work. As gently as she could she slid the towel behind Lexa’s neck and wrapped it securely around the front. “Try to keep your head straight, okay” 

Lexa signed her understanding, and Clarke finagled her left arm around to Lexa’s back, doing her best to line up her arm to Lexa’s her spine and head. Together, they slowly slid Lexa out of her car and onto her feet. From there Lexa attempted to walk with Clarke, but Clarke felt like she was dragging the woman. Pain shot through her right arm with every struggle to get Lexa to safety. Finally they reached the grass on the side of the road, and Clarke tried to lower Lexa to the ground as gently as possible. Lexa was flat on her back, and Clarke was kneeling above Lexa’s head, her hands on either side of the girl’s face to keep her stable.

Lexa moved her right hand in an attempt to sign to Clarke, but Clarke shook her head. “I can’t sign to you right now, Lexa. I have to keep your head still,” Clarke’s body was beginning to shake with exhaustion and tears filled her eyes. But she could finally hear sirens approaching and she sighed in relief. “The paramedics are almost here, Lexa. I need you to just keep focusing on me, can you do that? Just focus on me,” 

Clarke knew the girl probably couldn’t understand her, but Lexa’s eyes never left her once. And Clarke didn’t dare look up in fear of what she might see from that burning car. She just kept her eyes on Lexa’s, only diverting her gaze once the paramedics approached briskly with a backboard. “I need someone to take over stabilization. I - I can’t.. my arm.. I - I can’t hold her much longer,” Clarke spoke desperately to the first medic that approached.

The man nodded quickly and replaced Clarke’s hands with his own. Once Clarke extricated herself from her kneeling position, she noticed Lexa’s terrified gaze still on her. Cradling her right arm to her chest, Clarke knelt beside Lexa and brushed her left hand over the girl’s face. Tears welled in Lexa’s eyes but none fell, while Clarke felt tears of her own begin to slide down her cheeks. “It’ll be alright now, Lexa. They’re going to take you to the hospital. I’ll be there right behind you, alright?”

“Miss, we need to get her on the backboard immediately,” an older paramedic told her urgently.

Clarke nodded and took her hand away from Lexa’s face before looking at the older man. “Just so you know, she is deaf and lost her hearing aids in the crash. With her arm being injured, she can’t sign very well. It will be difficult to communicate with her.”

The medic placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Do not worry, miss, I will take good care of her. Now please, let my other team care for you. We will get your friend loaded up and over to Mt Weather General.”

A sigh left Clarke’s body before she could stop it. “Thank you, sir,” she turned back to Lexa and gave her good hand a hard squeeze. “I will be there soon,” she promised.

 

Once Clarke was inside the ambulance and the rig pulled away, she begged the medic in the back with her if she could make a phone call. The man told her that as long as it didn’t hinder his care that yes, it would be alright. Clarke needed to get in touch with Anya; she knew the woman was Lexa’s closest friend and mentor. She should be there for Lexa at the hospital. But Clarke didn’t have the woman’s number; thankfully she knew someone who did.

“Clarke, I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” Octavia’s breathless voice sounded through the phone after Clarke’s second attempt at calling her.

"Are you still with Lincoln?" Clarke asked urgently.

"Uh, yeah. That's kinda why this is a bad - "

"Shut up, and give the phone to him, O," Clarke demanded.

"Ugh, rude," Clarke heard faintly as the phone was passed over to Octavia's boyfriend, but Clarke didn't have time for pleasantries at the moment.

"Clarke, what is going on?" Lincoln's soothing timbre voice calmed Clarke's nerves almost immediately. She didn't know what gift the man possessed, but she knew it was not just her that was soothed by both his voice and presence, she had seen others affected as well.

"I need your sister's number. Lexa's being taken to the hospital and Anya's is one of the only people she trusts," Clarke spoke hurriedly; the medic kept glancing over at her as he tried to clean the wound on her head.

"Hospital, what? What happened, Clarke?" Lincoln pulled fully away from Octavia at hearing this news. His girlfriend's face turned to one of shock and she tried to ask him for answers, but a look from him silenced her.

"It... it was Finn. He was driving, and he was high, and he ran the red light," Clarke's breathing came in gasps, hysteria trying to grip her. "He hit Lexa's car, and now she's really hurt. She doesn’t have her hearing aids and she can’t sign. Anya needs to be there with her. Can you please text me her number?”

“Of course, Clarke, and let me know if you can’t get a hold of her,” Lincoln urged her gently. “What hospital are you going to?”

“Mt Weather General.”

“Clarke, what about you? Are you hurt?” Octavia called from Lincoln’s side. 

“I’m fine,” Clarke made eye contact with the medic as he tried to clean the cut on her temple, “nothing major broken. I’ve got to go, I still have to call Anya.”

“We’ll be there soon, Clarke!” Octavia promised before hanging up.

Clarke turned her attention back to the medic as he cut away the right sleeve of her shirt. There was blood on it. She knew she’d probably broken something, but didn’t realize the glass had cut her too. “Please just one more call,” she pleaded.

The medic looked at her annoyed. “You do realize that we normally don’t let people make calls at all, right?”

“I understand that, but the last time Lexa was in a car accident, she lost her hearing. She’s scared and she needs someone with her she can trust who can communicate with her,” Clarke argued. “Please, it will only take a minute.”

The medic must have recognized the look of desperation on her face because after a moment, he nodded. “Fine, but keep this arm still,” he gestured to Clarke’s right arm.

Clarke nodded to him and dialed Anya’s number. After several rings, Clarke worried that the woman wouldn’t pick up. But on what had to be the last ring, Anya’s gruff voice was heard. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Who is this?”

“My name is Clarke Griffin, I’m a friend of Lexa’s,” Clarke rushed through. “Lexa is on her way to the hospital and she doesn’t have her hearing aids.”

Clarke heard the rustling of sheets as Anya whipped the covers off of her body. “What happened?” she demanded.

Clarke hissed as the medic cleaned the cuts on her arm with alcohol. “She was in a car accident. I think her shoulder is dislocated, so she can’t really sign. She needs you there Anya.”

“What hospital are you going to?” Clarke heard the jangling of keys and was briefly amazed at the woman’s speed.

“Mt Weather General. I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks but they’re going to want to run some tests. You may not be able to see her immediately,” Clarke added that last bit hastily, afraid Anya may just hang up once she got the information she wanted.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” the line went dead after that.

Clarke took a deep breath and sagged against the stretcher. She watched the medic with tired eyes as he moved to splint her wrist, “The boy that was driving, Finn,” she started, her voice was thick as if she were forcing the words out, “he didn’t make it, did he?” She knew the answer before the medic even shook his head. The look in his eyes gave it away. “Do you think I made the right choice? Saving Lexa instead of him?”

The medic hesitated as he rolled a bandage around Clarke’s wrist, but he didn’t look at her. “It was a difficult decision, miss. It’s obvious you care for them both a great deal. You shouldn’t blame yourself for anything that happened.”

“Did I make the right choice?” Clarke implored, her eyes trying to catch the man’s gaze.

The medic gave her what she wanted and looked up at her, finality in his eyes and his voice. “Yes,” the man’s tone left no room for argument. “Given how you described Finn’s injuries to the operator, it’s likely he wouldn’t have survived anyway. If you had tried to save him, two would have died instead of one.”

Clarke didn’t respond after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we see an interaction between Clarke and Lexa in this chapter, at this point in the story they've known each other in passing for quite some time. This will end up being the turning point in their relationship.
> 
> I know these little drabbles dont seem to fit into each other at all, but at some point I plan to string them together to create an actual story. If you have questions feel free to ask me at   
> writing-from-my-soul.tumblr.com


	4. First meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa's first meeting

Clarke let nothing stop her as stormed through the gym and into the manager’s office. Someone would answer for the stitches she just have to put in Octavia’s eyebrow, the sprained wrist she was currently sporting. “Are you the one in charge here?” Clarke demanded of the girl sitting behind the desk.

The girl didn’t acknowledge Clarke until she violently slammed her hands on the desk. It was something that Clarke found strange; she had certainly not been quiet or polite as she stormed through the gym, so this woman had to be deliberately ignoring her. That made Clarke’s blood boil. “Is it common practice to injure your students? Do you want to explain to me why my best friend needed stitches and sprained her wrist here today? What the hell kind of place are you running here?” Clarke fired off questions in rapid succession, not letting the woman get a word in. Not that the woman looked like she was about to interrupt Clarke anytime soon; her brow was furrowed and her eyes seemed to closely track the movement of Clarke’s lips, an observation that Clarke would have found interesting on any other occasion. “I just got Octavia away from a violent environment and I will be damned if I have to go back to patching her up every other day because you don’t know how to run a gym properly!”

“Are you looking for me?” A calm, stoic voice from the office doorway startled Clarke. The woman that stood there was tall and lean with a permanent scowl fixed upon her face. Clarke looked from her to the woman at the desk a few times. “I’m sorry for the confusion, I let Lexa use my office to study whenever she’s not training,” she did not sound sorry at all. “My name is Anya, and I am the owner of this gym.”

Clarke turned back to the woman behind the desk, Lexa, who she found staring at Anya, “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said briefly. “But I assume you heard everything I said?” She asked Anya, keeping her voice hard, her anger returning.

Anya leveled her with a steely glare. “My entire gym heard everything you said.”

Clarke raised her chin defiantly. “Well maybe they need to know how you treat your students.”

Anya’s nostrils flared and she opened her mouth to respond but movement behind Clarke stole her attention. Clarke turned around and saw the other woman, Lexa, gesturing with her hands, her eyebrows furrowed, and pointedly avoiding looking in Clarke’s direction. She quickly swivelled her head back towards Anya and saw her gesturing back, her face angry. Clarke stood there confused for a moment before she had to speak up. “Okay what the hell are you two doing?” she demanded.

Anya’s glare could melt stone. “I’m telling Lexa everything you yelled at her,” she sneered at Clarke’s confused expression. “She’s -”

“Anya!” Lexa reprimanded, and Clarke’s head whipped around at the sound of her voice; smooth and strong, like molten steel before being molded into a weapon. But Lexa was not looking at her, she was staring hard at Anya. She made more gestures with her hands and Anya’s shoulders sagged before she circled her fist on her chest. It was then that Lexa turned to Clarke, her jaw set. “You have my apologies, I am the one who caused Octavia to need stitches. We were sparring after her class, but stopped as soon as it happened. I offered to drive her to a clinic to get stitches but she refused. She had assured us that she was okay and that her roommate could patch her up at home. And I’m sorry, but I did not know that she had sprained her wrist,” Lexa’s voice had turned soft as she spoke to Clarke, and Clarke found her anger draining out of her.

She slumped into the chair in front of the desk and dropped her head into her hands for a moment. “Yeah, Octavia has gotten good at hiding what hurts over the years, sometimes even from me. I’m sorry for causing a scene,” she brought her head up to look back at Anya, and found her gesturing her hands at Lexa again, “in your gym.”

Anya nodded once. “We will have a talk with Octavia about hiding her injuries from us.”

Clarke nodded. “Thank you, that would be helpful.”

“Are you Clarke?” Lexa’s question somewhat startled her, though Clarke tried to ignore how her name sounded in the girl’s mouth. Her face looked almost innocently curious as she looked at Clarke. “Octavia has spoken of you.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Clarke stood from the chair and wrapped her arms around her middle as she turned away from the two. She looked like she wanted to cave in on herself. “Octavia and I have known each other since we were kids. And I know I’m a bit overprotective of her,” she turned back to give Lexa an imploring stare, but caught Lexa watching Anya before her eyes snapped to Clarke, “but seeing her bloodied up like that again… I thought I was done patching her up,” she ended in a broken tone.

If the implication of Octavia’s past abuse surprised Lexa, the girl did well hiding it. Her only reaction was a slight widening of her eyes and a lift of her chin. “Her father…” she gave in realization.

Clarke’s head quirked to the side as she spoke to Lexa, “She told you about him?”

Lexa sucked in a deep breath and let out an even deeper sigh. “Just mentioned, really. No details.”

Her head immediately clouded with anger, Clarke could feel it. She wondered if her face showed just how much she hated the man; if it didn’t her next words did. “Yeah, well I pity the punching bag that bears his face in her mind.”

Lexa’s lips ticked up in a smile that Clarke might venture to call proud. “She is tough.”

Clarke stayed silent for a long moment, emotions of this meeting still taking its toll on her. When she spoke again, her tone was curious, quizative. “Can I ask a question?” Lexa simply quirked an eyebrow in response. “What have you two been doing with your hands this entire time?” Clarke’s head swivelled between Anya and Lexa as she spoke.

Lexa didn’t answer right away; in fact, she looked to Anya in confusion before the older woman huffed and made a few quick gestures. Clarke watched Lexa’s face closely as understanding dawned on her. She smiled at Clarke briefly before making gestures of her own. The look on Anya’s face told Clarke she did not like what Lexa said, but after throwing one last scathing look at Clarke she left the office. When Clarke turned back to Lexa, she saw the brunette giving her a kind smile. “I have severe hearing loss, and you just happened to catch me when I didn’t have my hearing aids in,” Lexa turned her head to the side to show the device she had managed to slip into her ear about halfway through Clarke’s ranting. The hearing aids themselves were pretty inconspicuous, they matched Lexa’s skin tone fairly well and though there was a sea turtle charm hanging from the device, Clarke thought that it could easily have been mistaken for a tragus piercing.

Clarke brought her hands up to her mouth as she thought over everything she’d done since walking into this office. “I am such an asshole. I am so sorry. I am a terrible human being.”

Lexa’s brows furrowed across her forehead but the small smile stayed on her lips. As Clarke spoke she came around the desk and stopped in front of her. Gently, Lexa took Clarke’s hands and lowered them from her face. “Clarke,” her voice was soft, and Clarke had a hard time focusing on her words when she was able to see the small gold flecks in her green eyes, “I’m deaf. Even with hearing aids in I need to be able to see you speak in order to understand you best. Covering your mouth or turning away makes it hard for me,” she finished, dropping Clarke’s hands.

Clarke’s eyes widened as realization dawned on her face. “And so, what you and Anya were doing with your hands…” she left the statement hanging for Lexa to fill in.

“Sign Language,” Lexa supplied. “Anya would start translating every time she thought I would have trouble understanding you.” 

Clarke was sure embarrassment was etched across her face. Her cheeks felt hot with a blush and she ran her fingers through her blonde hair to stop her fingers from fidgeting. “How do you say, ‘Sorry for being a bitch’ in sign language?” she asked with a nervous laugh.

Lexa let out a low chuckle. “Just ‘sorry,’” she made the sign as she spoke the word, a closed fist moving in a circle on the middle of her chest, “is fine.”

The blonde imitated Lexa’s movements and Lexa gave her a bright smile. For a moment they both stood there just watching each other, but then Clarke began fidgeting again. “I should probably get back to Octavia,” she muttered, but for a moment was fascinated by the way Lexa watched her lips. Shaking her head again she offered one last apology, “I am sorry for causing a scene.”

And with that Clarke walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo confession time. In this work, Bellamy does not exist and Octavia is an only child. This is not because I hate Bellamy as a character; its just that for the story I want to tell, he does not fit in.


	5. Octavia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Alright so this one is straight off with no editing, so sorry for that.
> 
> Here we go through the years of Octavia and Clarke's beginning. It moves fast, but there are some key points that really needed to be hit

Octavia had gotten good at hiding her bruises, sometimes even from Clarke. Not only that, but her father was a careful man. He was a cop after all; he knew what could be explained away and that his job set up a blanket of trust around everything he does. No one is just going to jump to the conclusion that he, a widow and man of the law was the source of his daughter’s bruises. Yes, Dan was a widow, and Octavia knew that her mother’s death was the trigger that started her father’s abuse of her. Not that Dan thought he was abusing his daughter. He loved her, and she reminded him so much of his wife that was taken from him so suddenly. He was grieving when it first happened; he was still grieving years later.

After the death of Octavia’s mother, her father worked longer to cope, and he drank more to cope. Often times he’d end up in a stupor on the couch at night. After a week, beer was not enough; he went through a twenty-four pack in one night. He graduated quickly to vodka, then again to whiskey. Octavia herself didn’t get much of a chance to grieve for her mother. Her father stopped caring for her as a father should. Very quickly food began dwindling in their house as her father began spending more of his money on alcohol. The house was in disarray; her father barely spoke to her. It was more than an eleven year old could handle. Octavia missed her mother terribly, and she had to miss her father as well as his near catatonic state left little in her to believe she’d ever get him back. She was angry with him. He was supposed to take care of her! As an eleven- year-old girl often does, she showed her displeasure with him in her attitude. She began picking fights with him just to get his attention, she acted out in class knowing that her teachers would have to confront him about her. And for a few weeks it went like that; their only conversations being arguments and her father becoming steadily more drunk each night. Then it happened. That night he’d gone through half a bottle of tequila when Octavia picked her fight with him. In his drunken anger he backhanded her across the face, splitting her lip and busting her nose. Immediately after it happened, they both froze, Octavia staggering from the impact. Before he could doing anything more than stumble forward, Octavia had sprinted from the room, from the house in fact out into the dark neighborhood.

Two feelings flooded into Dan in such equal force that it left him confused. He felt ashamed of what he had just done. He had struck the one person he swore to always protect from the world. He let his anger and his grief overtake him. But in the same breath that shame filled him, he also felt immense emotional relief. He felt better. What on earth could that mean? Rather than rack his alcohol addled brain on that question, he simply stumbled himself to bed, notably without finishing his bottle of tequila for the first time in a long time. 

For about a week Dan didn’t drink as much. He bought groceries and cooked dinner for his daughter for the first time in months. Octavia even seemed to stop fighting with him, though it did hurt him to see her lip so swollen. As the days went on though, his nights grew longer, he couldn’t sleep without drinking, and his drunken states brought back thoughts of his beloved wife. It was a month before it happened again, this time he pushed Octavia into the wall leaving her clutching her head in pain. Again she ran from the house before he could make sure she was alright, and once she was gone that relief washed over him again and he felt like he could breathe again. Soon, Dan realized that he felt better longer when he didn’t have to see what he had done on Octavia’s body, so he kept his blows off of her face. And every morning after he would check on his daughter and tell her how sorry he was. He would cook her favorite food and buy her a present, and he was better… for a while. He knew no one could find out about this; they would take his little girl away from him if they did. They wouldn’t understand that he needed her.

He had come close to being discovered only once when Octavia was twelve and he could almost laugh at how easily he had been given an out. His daughter’s gym teacher had noticed the bruising on Octavia’s arm from where he had grabbed his daughter roughly the night before. The man had called Dan to ask if he had known anything about the incident that caused them. Before he could even panic his way through an explanation, the teacher unknowingly gave him a perfect and simple out. Instead of simply asking for an explanation for the marks, the gym teacher asked if he knew of Octavia having trouble with bullies. It was simple; it was beautifully simple and Dan jumped on it. Soon after that incident, he signed Octavia up for lacrosse, the well known violent sport being a perfect excuse for any future bruises and injuries that may become visible. He also made damn sure that Octavia knew exactly what would happen should she tell anyone the truth, but someone already knew. Clarke knew. Clarke knew from the beginning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From the first day Clarke met Octavia, she was trying to protect her, and when she couldn’t protect the younger girl, she was there to patch her up afterwards. Clarke met Octavia when she was nine; Octavia was six. Clarke had come outside to play where she saw three boys push a little girl off her bike. The little girl immediately began crying as she clutched her left wrist. Before she could even think, Clarke was running. Running towards the boy in the middle, the one that had pushed the little girl. She tackled the boy with the full force of her tiny nine-year-old body and was punching him before they even reached the ground. 

As the three boys ran away from Clarke’s nine-year-old fury, Clarke turned to the little girl who was sniffling quietly still gingerly holding her wrist. “Are you okay?” Clarke held out a hand to pull the little girl to her feet.

“My hand really hurts,” the little girl said through sniffs.

“Where do you live? Maybe your mommy can help you feel better,” Clarke suggested as she pulled the girl’s bike upright.

“No!” The girl exclaimed loudly. “No, I’ll be in trouble! I wasn’t supposed to leave the circle!” She cried pointed to the cul de sac they were about thirty feet from.

“Come on, your mommy won’t care about that. You’re hurt, that’s what she’ll care about,” Clarke tried to convince the girl as she steered her towards the cul de sac.

“No!” the girl cried digging her heels in. “I promised! And now I’ll be in trouble!”

The girl began to cry harder and louder, so Clarke dropped the bike and wrapped her arms around her, being careful of the little girl’s wrist. After a moment, the little girl calmed down enough for Clarke pull away. “What’s your name?”

“O’tavia,” The girl said through more sniffles.

“Octavia?” Clarke repeated; the little girl nodded. “My name is Clarke.”

“Hi, Clarke,” Octavia said quietly, sticking out her uninjured hand for Clarke to shake. The gesture made Clarke smile.

“My mom’s a doctor, and she should be home any minute. We could go to my house so she can fix your hand, then you won’t be hurt when you go home,” Clarke plead her case as convincingly as she could. “We can have some juice while we wait,” she added to sweeten the deal.

Octavia nodded and grabbed for Clarke’s hand, holding her other hand to her chest. Clarke picked the little girl’s bike upright once more and began to steer it towards her house, leading its owner along with her. Once getting into the house, Clarke had Octavia sit at the dining room table with a box of apple juice and went in search of her father. She found him in the first place she looked, his work space made from a spare bedroom on the second floor.

“Hey, Dad,” she called for his attention. “When is mom getting home?”

Her father paused in his work to glance at his watch, “In about 30 minutes.”

Clarke’s heart sank a bit, “Dang it,” she muttered. “Okay, thanks, Dad.”

She got as far as the stairs before her father called her back, “Clarke!” He waited until he saw her reappear in the doorway. “What’s wrong? Why are you back from playing so soon?”

Clarke looked down and rubbed the back of her neck nervously. “Well, when I went outside, there were these boys being mean to a littl girl. They pushed her off her bike and hurt her wrist. I may have punched one of them for it,” Clarke lowered her voice for this last admittance and refused to meet her father’s eyes. “And the little girl didn’t wanna go home because she thought she’d be in trouble, do I brought her here so that mom could take care of her,” she spoke rapidly, almost too fast for her father to understand her, but he managed.

“And do her parents know that she’s here?” Clarke shuffled her feet a bit and shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her father run his hand down his face. He stood up and walked towards his daughter, “Okay, kiddo, let’s go see what we can torture out of her,” he winked as Clarke looked up at him causing her to giggle.

Once they got back to the dining room, Clarke got busy wrapping an Ace bandage around Octavia’s wrist while her dad did his best to get information out of the six-year-old. Once her dad managed to get Octavia’s address out of her, he discreetly snuck away from the kids and out of the house. Clarke felt better once she knew her dad had gone to get Octavia’s parents; she didn’t want the girl to get in trouble, but it didn’t feel right not telling them that their daughter was hurt. Besides, what if the looked out their window and thought she had just disappeared? She was very glad her dad had gone to get them.

Years later, Clarke’s dad would still brag to people about how his daughter had protected her friend from bullies one day, and when she thought her friend would get in trouble, his daughter stood between Octavia and her mom to protect her then too. Only when her mom assured Clarke that Octavia wasn’t in trouble did Clarke step away. Years later, Clarke’s mom would still brag that she knew her daughter would become a doctor the day she came home to see the perfectly bandaged wrist that Octavia was sporting. Clarke had even known to ice the injury, and Abby always said that had been one of her proudest moments. 

That day began a long and tight knit bond between Clarke and Octavia that Clarke wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. It was like she had a little sister. Everyday they would spend their afternoons together usually up in Clarke’s tree house or on the jungle gym in Octavia’s backyard. It didn’t matter to them that they were three years apart; nothing could come between them. After the funeral for Octavia’s mom, Clarke found her up in the treehouse late that night by happenstance. Octavia had the camping lantern on and Clarke happened to notice the light through the window. When she went to see why the light was on, she found her best friend curled up in a ball in the corner of the tree house crying silently and staring blankly at the lantern on the floor. Clarke held her friend that night, wishing she could do anything to take away her pain. From then on anytime one of them was upset, they knew to meet in the tree house, and it happened more and more as Octavia’s dad’s drinking problem grew worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The first time her dad hit her, the treehouse was where Octavia ran. Clarke found her there, her lip and nose bleeding and a bruise already forming on her cheek. Clarke wanted to run and tell her parents, but Octavia convinced her not to; she told Clarke that she had argued with him on purpose, she told Clarke that it was just like when kids get spanked by their parents, she told Clarke that it probably wouldn’t happen again. So Clarke cleaned her face as best she could and had snuck back into her house to get ice for Octavia’s cheek. And after that things were better… for a while. The next time it happened, Clarke begged Octavia to let her get her mom; she thought the girl might have a concussion for goodness sake! But Octavia refused; she told Clarke that her father hadn’t meant to do it, she told Clarke that it was an accident, she told Clarke that it probably wouldn’t happen again.

As the months and the abuse went on, Clarke’s old treehouse morphed into a makeshift first aid station. The shelves that had once held toys and games now held bandages, ointments, and ice packs. Beside her favorite fiction series like Harry Potter and the Hunger Games were first aid guides and booklets. There were two camp beds in the treehouse that Clarke had convinced her dad to get when she told him she and Octavia wanted to sleep in the treehouse during the summer, but now one of them was in the middle of the treehouse with a small folding chair next to it while the other was folded in the corner, unused for a long time. After a while, Octavia stopped trying to give excuses for her father, but she still wouldn’t let Clarke tell anyone. She made Clarke promise and told her that he dad said they would send Octavia away if anyone ever found out. Part of Clarke felt that anywhere would be better than what Octavia had to deal with now, but a larger part felt that it was better that Octavia be here where Clarke could help than be far away, maybe being hit worse with no one there for her. So Clarke said nothing.

The summer before Clarke’s junior year of high school, one of the worst nights of her life happened. One night she found Octavia crumpled against the tree below the treehouse unable to climb the stairs up. When Clarke went to help her up she found that it wasn’t sweat sticking Octavia’s shirt to her but blood. Horrified, Clarke heaved Octavia up the stairs to the treehouse, trying to get Octavia to tell her what happened. Her father had gone after her with a broken beer bottle. He had managed to cut her shoulder and back before she had hit him over the head with her lacrosse stick, knocking him out. Octavia had ran straight for the treehouse but had slipped and twisted her ankle on the way. Clarke used up her entire supply of butterfly stitches that night. Once she had finished, she sat beside Octavia’s sleeping frame, silently crying and running her fingers through her hair. 

What truly horrified Clarke was what she saw the next day. Dan, Octavia’s father was outside grilling for him and his daughter, a cheery smile on his face. Later Octavia told her  
that the knock on his head had caused him not to remember hitting her the night before, and Clarke wanted to hit him in the head again. She wanted to make him remember the horrendous thing he had down and have him grovel on his knees before his daughter. But Clarke was a sixteen year old girl, and Octavia’s father was a beefy man of his forties. Besides, Clarke knew it wouldn’t change anything. In a day or so she would be patching her friend up once more.

That summer she told her parents that she wanted to take extra college classes on top of her high school courses. She told them that she wanted to get some of her prerequisite classes done before she ever left so that she could graduate early, and that was true, but she never told them why. She had a plan to get Octavia away for good. That summer was also when she and her mom found out her dad had pancreatic cancer. It happened so suddenly; one day he seemed fine, though he had lost weight and seemed to be tired more often than not, and the next, Clarke’s mom noticed that his eyes had a yellow color in the whites of his eyes. She hadn’t been worried but had taken him with her to her office and ordered a CT scan of his liver. His liver was fine, but during the scan they had found several masses on his pancreas. The next months were a whirlwind of tests and surgeries and chemotherapy. But he was gone before he could see his daughter graduate. For a little while it was Octavia’s turn to hold Clarke as she healed.

Clarke threw herself into her schoolwork after that; now she had two reasons to get out of this town. By the time she graduated high school, Clarke also had enough credit hours to start her university career as a sophomore. And she didn’t stop there. She enrolled in the University of California in San Francisco on a full academic scholarship, and her first semester there, on top of her regular course work, Clarke enrolled herself in an EMT program. After that she worked full time as an EMT when she wasn’t in class. It wasn’t so bad, most nights she had time to sleep and do most of her homework in between emergencies. Every bit of money she made, she put away; she didn’t need it yet. Her scholarship covered all the costs over her campus life; she technically lived in a dorm, though if you asked her her roommate’s name she couldn’t tell you, she spent so much time working; she had a meal plan that covered all her meals, and she could happily say that her meal plan even worked in the campus coffee shop. That place saved her live so much. She stayed during the winter and summer breaks, minus the week of Christmas, to take classes and work, but she made sure to take off at the end of the summer for Octavia’s birthday.

It hurt so much to leave Octavia and to stay away like she did, and Clarke tried her best to always be available for Octavia to call and Skype, but it wasn’t the same. She knew that her best friend needed her, but Clarke needed to do this. This was her plan, and she had to make it work. She told Octavia as often as she could that she’d be moving her out to California with her as soon as she graduated, and she wanted to keep that promise.

Abby wasn’t never the same after losing her husband. She became withdrawn and threw herself into her work as well. Clarke thought that it was run in the family. It was easy to get away with staying at school during breaks without much explanation; Abby was never home that much anymore either. She never saw the lights coming from her daughter’s old treehouse even though her daughter was a thousand miles away. The first time either Clarke or Abby seemed to come up for air was at Clarke’s graduation. In the weeks leading up to the big day, Abby couldn’t tell people enough how proud she was that her daughter was getting her Bachelor’s degree in biology not only two years early, but Summa Cum Laude as well! She told everyone she could that her Clarke was going to one of the youngest medical students in her program.  
She flew out to California two days before the graduation ceremony to finally spend time with her baby girl, and if she noticed the bags under Clarke’s eyes, she simply chalked it up to all the hard work her daughter had been putting in. Abby liked to think she was the loudest mom cheering at that ceremony for her little girl, and for a moment it didn’t hurt to think of her husband as she wished he could be there to see his baby accept her diploma.

After graduation, Clarke and Abby both flew back home for the first real break that Clarke had had in so long. But Clarke was also back on a mission. She would be leaving again in a few weeks, but she’d be taking Octavia with her this time. Octavia’s eighteenth birthday was at the end of July, a Harry Potter baby Clarke used to call her, and this birthday Clarke would be her Hagrid and fly the girl far from this place. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The welcome home wasn’t quite as warm from her best friend as Clarke would have imagined. In fact it was downright icy. She hardly answered Clarke’s text when she first arrived and she wouldn’t tell Clarke where she was. Finally, after two days, Clarke steeled herself and went to face the most hated man in her life, Octavia’s father Dan. The man looked extremely disheveled but cheery when he opened his front door to greet Clarke. The smile on his face made her skin crawl as he gushed about how long it had been since she’d been in town; she knew how long it’d been, she’d been counting each day; and told her how proud he was of her for graduating so early; she didn’t want his pride, she wanted his teeth knocked in. Once she was finally able to get Octavia’s location out of him, the school’s stadium, she made the quickest escape she could and borrowed her mom’s car to get to her.

She found Octavia lounging in the stands using her lacrosse bag as a headrest. Clarke didn’t call out to her as she approached, so there was no hiding the smoke being blown from Octavia’s lips, or what was definitely not a cigarette poking out between Octavia’s fingers. 

“What the hell, O?” Clarke called out causing the girl to nearly jump out of her skin as she hastily sat up and tried to hide her joint.

“Oh, it’s you,” she relaxed immediately and brought the joint to her lips once more. “What do you want, Clarke?”

Her voice had changed so much more than Clarke realized. It was throaty and gravelly; Clarke would’ve like the way it sounded had it not sounded dead. Her dark hair was long, and bits of it were braided as it all went back into a ponytail. Her face, Clarke thought, should have been beautiful, it was beautiful normally. It was angular, sharp with a chiselled jawbone, and her topaz eyes once shown in years past. Not anymore. Her right eye was rimmed with deep purple bruise; that was fresh. And if Clarke looked closely, which she always did, she could see the faint finger-shaped bruising around her best friends neck that looked as if they had been covered by makeup before Octavia sweated it off. Without saying another word, Clarke crouched in front of her best friend and gingerly brought a hand to the girl’s face. She jerked away instantly.

“This is fresh,” she said matter-of-factly; she would know after all, “and these are only a couple days old,” she pointed to the bruises on Octavia’s neck which prompted the girl to bring her hand to the bruises, obviously unaware the makeup had come off.

“Yeah, and?” She blew a lungful of smoke in Clarke’s face as she spoke.

Clarke swatted the smoke away as best she could. “Why did you tell me about them before?”

Octavia scoffed and stood up to walk away, nearly knocking Clarke over in the process. “What does it matter?”

“It matters because I need to know what happens to you!” she called as she scrambled to follow her best friend, her little sister. “It matters because I care about you!”

Octavia’s short derisive laugh felt like a punch in the gut. “Right,” she sneered as she flicked away the butt of her joint.

“Octavia!” Clarke shouted as grabbed the other girl’s shoulder and forced Octavia to face her. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“You left!” Octavia suddenly bellowed. “You left me for two years with that psycho, and you come back and expect everything to be alright?! Two fucking years, Clarke! I see you all of two weeks during that time, and you know it’s gotten worse for me here! You know what he does to me! I don’t even remember the last day I had where I wasn’t in pain, but no, you fucked off after your dad died and left me here!” Octavia’s chest was heaving by the time she was done.

Clarke stood in stunned silence for so long that Octavia started walking away again. “Octavia, wait!” she spun the girl around to face her again. “Octavia, I’ve been working this hard for you-”

“For me?” Octavia shrieked, cutting Clarke off. “You abandoned me here!”

“I’m trying to get you out of here!” Clarke yelled back. The admittance immediately stopped Octavia in her tracks. “I haven’t just been working myself to death because of my dad,” she began, her voice much softer now. “I was trying to graduate early, so that when you graduated high school and turned eighteen, I could take you with me before I start med school. And I’ve worked almost nonstop to save enough money to rent us an apartment for a while. And I probably committed fraud filling out FAFSA and college applications as you, but you’re in okay? You’re in, and the day you turn eighteen we can blow this town…”

There were too many emotions rolling through Octavia’s face at once, so Clarke couldn’t really read her. “How did you-”

“I’ve had all of your personal information memorized for years just in case I ever had to take you to the hospital, and I remembered your SAT score because you bragged for days that you got a higher score than I did, and I mean really you beat me by ten points; you do realize that is really just one question?” Clarke interjected herself. Of course, she was so proud of Octavia for getting a 1490 on her SAT, but being beat by 10 points would rub anyone a bit.

She was brought from her musings by the tears in Octavia’s eyes and the trembling in her lips. “I can leave?” the question left her mouth in a broken whisper.

Clarke cupped Octavia’s face in both hands and held her gaze with certainty in her eyes. “Yes,” she said with finality. “The day you turn eighteen, we can leave and you don’t ever have to come back.”

Octavia was crying before Clarke had even finished, and her sobs only grew as she crumbled into Clarke’s arms. Clarke had wanted for so long to take away her pain; she had wanted for so long for Octavia to be safe. Not a day went by that Clarke didn’t worry that Octavia might not make it to this moment, this moment when Clarke could finally tell her that everything would be alright. And Clarke couldn’t erase all the years of pain Octavia had endured from the person who was supposed to care for her, but finally on this day, Clarke could give Octavia an escape.


End file.
